We have all experienced pain. All kinds of pain. Physical, emotional pain. Pain that we have felt like we deserved and pain that was completely unexpected. It’s hard to say which is harder to endure or which is easier to get through. They each have their unique hurt.

When I worked in the corporate world, it was all business. Emotions were checked at the door and you had to treat everyone professionally. What’s unique about my job in ministry is that people and relationships are first, the job at hand is second. It makes sense when living out your faith as your profession. It gets personal. You greet families as they are coming in to plan their mother’s funeral. Members tell you their personal struggles while on the phone. In many ways this line of work fits me much better than having to check my emotions at the door. Yet, in many ways, it beats me up.

Recently I was blindsided by hurt. In the midst of a conversation, I thought I would naturally be asked to help. I wasn’t. Someone else was. I was caught so off guard; I couldn’t speak. I’m not one who can hide her emotions, so naturally the tears began and the group knew I was hurting. I didn’t know what to say or why it hurt so much. I got flustered and I got silent.

Needless to say, it was obvious the next day that I was upset and crying. Someone reached out. “I can tell you are upset. Talk to me …” These nine words opened the door for me to speak. I had almost 24 hours to think about what had gotten me so upset and to put the emotions that surprised me into words.

Now let me sidetrack here by saying, I may be good at putting me thoughts into words on a computer screen or by using a pen and paper, but using my voice is not a strength of mine. Conversation around conflict gives me anxiety. I stubble on my words and often leave the conversation wishing I had said a whole lot differently. I read and re-read text messages when someone doesn’t reply wondering what I should have said differently and worrying about whether or not the other person is going to reply. Verbally I am a clutz and really struggle finding the strength to put a voice to my pain.

In my ministry, I have tried to default to my strong language – writing. It doesn’t work. Pen on paper, while therapeutic and dependable, does not build relationships. It leaves so much to interpretation. It lacks voice tone, eye contact and body language.

Back to my recent unexpected sucker punch. I’ve been crying for a day straight. Feeling ridiculous and just plain emotional. Feeling selfish for being so hurt, when clearly the other person is going through so much more. How dare I bring my insecurities to this other person who is fighting for their own life, literally. But they reached out to me. The weak reaches out to the strong. I know this person loves me. I know he cares about me and I love and reciprocate all those feelings. So when my kids were asleep, I picked up the phone. I put myself out there – not knowing what I would say when he answered the phone. “Hi.” “Mel, talk to me. What’s going on?”

The flood gates open. Tears rolled down my face while I spoke all the silent thoughts I had processed over the last 24 hours. He didn’t get mad with me. He listened. He loved me through all the stuff I unloaded. He shared his own thoughts and explained how surprised he was that I was upset. And you know what? I felt better. The sharing validated that he loves me. Speaking my hurt allowed me to feel heard.

It doesn’t always work like that. Sometimes you open yourself up to someone who rejects you. What I am starting to learn is that talking about the hurt is like pouring water on a fire. Whether the other person responds positively or not, you stop playing and re-playing the conversation in your mind. It’s no longer burning out of control, taking over your thoughts. You lay the issue to rest. Maybe it’s resolved and you feel so much better. Maybe it’s not. But at least you go to sleep that night, knowing you gave it your all.

Talk! Be brave and talk. Don’t hide behind a text message, a pen, email or your tears. Ask the questions that keep you up at night. Keep showing up. I guarantee, if the other person cares for you, it will be worth it and so much more.

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My family is officially four tonsils, four adenoids down and two ear tubes up. The last five days have gone by in a blink of an eye!

The morning of surgery, we were taken back to a pre-op room pretty much right away. The boys were so dang cute in their footy pajamas talking about how they were getting their tonsils out.

Logan went back first. They gave him a happy cocktail that made him keep pulling up his hospital gown. The doc said it was quite normal for boys to have that reaction to the medicine. HA!

Weston got a little restless when his brother was gone. He saw the team take Logan to surgery all by himself – he was thinking that I’d be coming too … whoops! Moms might be super heroes, but they don’t get to go into the OR for tonsillectomies. He started to get a little nervous and squirrely. It wasn’t long before he got his silly juice and settled down. Phew that stuff works magic! Weston tried to pull himself up to sit. I think the whoosiness hit him … he giggled and flopped back down – like a drunk 4-year-old. He thought it was great and tried to pull himself up a few more times, each time his head would sway and he would flop back down. Funny stuff. As the doctors got him ready to go back for surgery, he asked about Logan. “Is my brother all done? He ok?” My sweet boy … asking about his brother. A triplet’s bond is tight.

There was only a few minutes before I was called back to see Logan in recovery. I walked into Logan’s room and his poor eyes were swollen from crying. His eyes said it all .. You tricked me! This surgery stuff is no fun.

I dropped my bags and sat next to him to hold his hand. My heart just broke! It’s funny because I didn’t imagine them being scared or crying … I imagined them having sore throats, but not having the sups sups. Logan said he didn’t have any owies, which was good – the emotions were normal from what the nurses told me. It was only about 20 minutes and two popsicles before Logan was ready to move to his post-op room. I was going to go back with Logan while Doug met Weston in recovery. I walked two steps out of Logan’s room and I could hear Weston screaming “I want mama! I want mama! MAMA!!!!” We paused for Logan’s nurse to see if they wanted me to come in or not. They said yes. I walked into Weston’s room and he was hysterical. Trying to climb out of his bed – just screaming. Once he had his mama and some morphine he was much better. A post-op M&M :)

I was happy that neither of the boys were in any pain – they were just sluggish and glazed over. Logan was quick to bounce back. He was back in his pj’s in no time. He got a wheelchair ride from his room to Weston’s. It was a little ridiculous because they were literally 10 feet away from each other. Logan crawled up on my lap as I sat in the rocking chair next to Weston’s bed.I snapped this priceless picture of them:

Logan was getting fidgety and starting to climb all over. Logan and I occupied ourselves with selfies while Weston slept …

Finally, Weston was alert enough that we could go home. We closed down day surgery – rebels!

Once we were home the boys settled in well. They pretty much just fell asleep on the couch. I slept on the couch with them. A pretty uneventful evening really. I had expected so much worse!

The next few days were filled with snuggles. As long as Weston could see or touch me he was fine. As long as Logan had his panda and baby doll he was fine. My favorite was sitting in the middle of the two of them. Being a single, full time working mom I don’t have much time to just sit and cuddle. Cuddling was my full time job for the last few days. No complaints here!

Day three – Weston really perked up. Logan had not.

Friday night Doug picked up the boys as it was his weekend with them. As a mama that was hard to hand over my babies when they weren’t feeling well, even if it was to their dad. No one can take care of her baby cubs like a mama bear.

I can say that the past few days have gone a lot smoother than I could have ever imagined. I thought I would be up all night with crying kids but that wasn’t the case at all. They only cried when it was time to take medicine. I have to admit that Weston spit out his medicine all over me not once, but twice. Wardrobe change!

We still have Monday and Tuesday home from school. I’m actually looking forward to playing stay at home mom again. Keeping them low key is going to be a challenge …

Thank you prayer warriors for all of the prayers and thoughts! They all worked wonders! I don’t think we will be missing those tonsils at all …

Love, Mel

Little hands fit perfectly in a mommy’s hand.I especially love this picture, because the blanket in the background is the blanket I slept with every night while in the hospital with Owen. A friend of mine, from elementary school, made the blanket for Owen, but since he was on the medical study and had to be kept cold, I slept with it. It’s turned into my adult security blanket. Thank you Kate – your beautiful gift still brings me comfort!

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Tomorrow is a big day … the triplets are getting their tonsils out. I’ve known this day was coming for quite a while … their tonsils are so huge that they are actually impeding their speech. I’m quite glad they are getting them out – I remember how wonderful it was when I got mine out at the age of 21. I wish I had gotten mine out a lot sooner!

I was rock solid about the whole thing until today at about 11:30 a.m. I started to piece together what tomorrow would be like. We would walk into the same hospital that we said goodbye to Owen in. We would kiss our babies goodbye as the doctors took Logan and Weston to the same OR where Owen’s heart, liver and kidneys were removed. I picture the recovery room – where Doug and I were escorted to a small room off to the side, where we would hold and kiss our baby boy for the last time. Then I remember how his cheeks were pale and cool to the touch – like we had been out for a walk on a crisp fall day. I can still feel his cool cheeks on my lips.

My mind just went crazy, remembering all kinds of things that 1. I haven’t thought of in sooooo long and 2. weren’t really helpful in preparing for tomorrow. I’m taken off guard on how quickly these memories come to the surface. I mean, things have been good for a really long time and then BAM the memories and pain in my chest all come back. I attempted to fend off the thoughts as I tried to focus in a meeting and while I tried to get bulletins done for worship while I’m out of work – brushing the slow tears that formed in the corner of my eyes away and taking in a deep breath as my heart skips a beat. Gosh – it’s crazy how the mind can just take over.

The boys are ready … we’ve been talking about it a lot. A typical conversation goes like this:

Me: Boys, are you ready for your surgery?

Weston: Yeah – these balls in the back of my mouth are going to get out when we go to see the doctor.

Logan: Daddy has the balls in his mouth out.

Me: Yes, that’s right! Mommy has her tonsils out too. When we get to the hospital they are going to give you a funny gown to wear.

Logan: Mama, I keep my underwear on?

Me: Yes, Logan, you can keep your underwear on. Then, you’ll go to sleep and when you wake up, you’ll have a sore throat.

Weston: ME NO WANT TO HAVE A SORE THROAT! I reaaaaally no wanna go Mama.

Me: It’ll be OK bud. How many popsicles do you get to have for breakfast?

Me: But when you have your tonsils out you can have a popsicle for breakfast … or 5 or 6 or 12!

Weston: I like popsicles. I eat Popsicle for breakfast and no go to the doctor?

Smart kid … always thinkin’.

They’ll be fine … most likely clung to me over the next few days but just fine. I’ve cleared my schedule – gotten caught up on most of my chores so I can just focus on them. I’ve got my brother and sister lined up to spend extra time with Jaden. It’s gonna be good – hard – but good.

I’ve got their bags packed – favorite blanket, baby pandas (they have matching stuffed animals), favorite movie and their LeapPads. All I have to do is give them some jello for an early breakfast and get to Children’s Hospital on time :)

If you think of it, could you send a prayer our way tomorrow? One for Logan at around Noon and one for Weston around 1 p.m.? You have been such prayer warriors for my family in the past, I feel bad asking for more … but prayers are free right? And hey, I’ll make you a deal .. you pray for my kids and I’ll pray for your kids any time! Just drop me a note and I’d be honored to pray for your little life’s treasures!

Love,

Mel

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We were late for church today. Logan decided he didn’t want to put on his shoes. I was nervous when we finally arrived. Would my children be able to hold it together for an hour, or would the ugly side of our family rear it’s ugly head, revealing what our family is really like to a bunch of church-going-strangers? I dropped Logan and Weston off in the nursery. Both boys hung their coats and kissed me sweetly goodbye. A flawless drop off. Fingers crossed they wouldn’t get into a wrestling match in the next 59 minutes.

Jaden and I walked to the sanctuary at the other side of the building. I was thinking of the best way to find a seat without being noticed … we were really late and I knew any sudden movements would draw attention. When Jaden saw the doors to the sanctuary his pace quickened. He started tearing off his coat and hat, tossing them behind him, hoping I would catch them. He ran down the center aisle toward the altar where the children were sitting and listening to the children’s message. Let me repeat that … he RAN down the center aisle INTHE MIDDLE OF THE CHURCH SERVICE! There was no sneaking in the side door and sliding into a back row, going unnoticed. I asked him if he needed help finding his Sunday School class; we had only been to this church a few times before. He shook his head as he continued running down the aisle. I slid into a pew.

I couldn’t help but think of this verse:

Then Jesus called for the children and said to the disciples, “Let the children come to me. Don’t stop them! For the Kingdom of God belongs to those who are like these children. Luke 18:16 (NLT)

Whoa, did I just see this piece of scripture lived out in front of me? Those who are like children … When you finally get to church, run down the center aisle to hear His word – without worry or fear of what others are thinking of you. Just run towards the cross.

Why do I go to church? I come to church to receive God’s word and guidance. I shouldn’t be worried about impressing anyone or going unnoticed. Jaden had the right idea. RUN towards the cross. Run even if you are late. Run even if that means everyone is looking at you. The God I worship, is just glad we showed up. He loves us just as we are, totally messy, late and frazzle.

I am such a proud mama … I need to learn from Jaden. We need to learn from our children.

Love, Mel

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Maybe I’m the only one … but there are so many times that all I can see are the wrong things I’m doing in motherhood. All of my mommy failures staring me right in the face. Then, like little tiny gifts, there are those moments when you think to yourself, “Holy crap, I think I’m doing something right with these little tiny humans!”

The boys have had a bad case of the gimmies. They always seem to be asking for something. I’m doing my best to stand my ground but dang it’s hard. I start convincing myself that I’m a horrible mother, raising just greedy little boys. If I were a better mom, my children would know the value of a dollar and not ask for such silly things.

Then one morning, out of the blue, I receive a tiny little mommy gift. Jaden asked me about recycling. “Mom, what does it mean when you recycle paper?” Well, it means you take the used paper and make new paper so you don’t have to cut down more trees. He pondered on that for a few minutes. Then, he said,”You know, we’ve got a lot of stuffed animals downstairs. What if we put them under the tree on Christmas Eve? Santa could bring them back to the North Pole and give them to his elves. It’d be like recycling.”

He’s getting it! Taking what he has and thinking of how he can bless others with it. I felt the stains of my mommy mishaps fade a little in this awesome moment. I felt like in the midst of all the craziness, I must be doing something right. A tiny little mommy gift.

This past weekend, I took Jaden and a friend to a Christmas breakfast and craft event at the school my mom works at. We collected our supplies, found a spot to sit and set to work making ornaments. Jaden finished his and got up, without saying anything, and handed his completed ornament to the volunteer. She looked confused. Jaden said, “Here, I’m done.” It didn’t even cross his mind that he could keep it. He was thinking of the Little Warrior Ornament Drive where the kids make ornaments to be donated to a local non-profit. I was proud. So very proud. He worked hard on the ornament – doing his best work, with every intention of giving it away. Just like that – another little, tiny mommy gift. Granted it was followed by a begging session for a book at the book fair – but still, you’ve got to celebrate the little wins, right?

These little, tiny mommy gifts can be easy to miss. Sometimes they are the kinds of ah-ha moments that smack you in the face and you can’t miss them. But other times they are subtle and easily go by unnoticed.

Fellow mama warriors – be on the lookout for these little gifts. They are given to you as a reward for your hard work and sleepless nights worrying about your babies. Use these gifts as fuel and encouragement. You are doing great things.

What little, tiny mommy gifts have you unwrapped lately? I’m excited to hear from you!

I was on the third floor, in the birthing center of Waukesha Memorial Hospital, pregnant with three babies. I was going on my second week of being there. When the doctor found out I was 3 cm dilated I bought myself a one way ticket to a hospital stay. I was not showing signs of active labor … I was becoming a permanent fixture.

This particular night four years ago (11-9-10) Doug and Jaden had left from their nightly visits and Rachael, my sister, was hanging out for a while longer, for “girl time.” She brought mud masks. Here I am with a belly that hung lower than most girls wear their skirts these days, sitting on a couch in my room, painting my face with mud. We laughed and laughed and laughed. My sister always knows just the kind of mood medicine I need!

It was a Tuesday night. Why do I remember this? Because the results show for Dancing with the Stars was on. They were recapping a dance to a Pussycat Dolls song. I came out of the bathroom trying to reinact the dance singing “loosen up my buttons baby.” I learned three things:

It is not attractive or easy to dance when carrying three 5 lbs babies in your belly

It’s HILARIOUS to try and sexy dance with three 5 lbs babies in your belly

The real words to the song are not “loosen up my buttons baby”

Good thing my nurses didn’t see that little dance …. but there is a video of it somewhere …

It was time for my nightly fetal monitoring which required two machines, three belly bands and four hands hold them all in place. We noticed that the heartbeats were a little flat (not showing the little accelerations which is a healthy sign in babies in utero). After watching for a bit, the heartbeats perked up and we were no longer concerned. Nurse Amy asked me if I was feeling contractions. “Nope, I feel great!” “hmmm You are having contractions every 5 minutes.” This wasn’t abnormal, I was having contractions on and off for the past two weeks – my uterus was seriously ticked off being stretched that large. She decided to call the doc on call who was on the floor to check if I had dilated any farther. My nurse for the night, Jessie, said, “Ugh if you go into labor, I’m not your nurse anymore … I don’t do labor.” Ummm I’m on the labor and delivery floor of a hospital, what does that mean you don’t do labor? Turns out she was an OBGYN nurse and only certified to care for OB patients or bed rest patients … not women in labor kind of patients.

Doc on call comes in and says I’m still 5 cm dilated – no active labor here. I got my four glasses of water filled (the gestational diabetes had me drinking gallons of water a day) and tried to get some sleep. My coworkers from Kohl’s were going to come and have lunch with me the next day – had to get some good rest.

I had the best night of sleep in a long time!

Nurse Jessie woke me up for my morning fetal monitoring. “Are you feeling those contractions?” “Nope, I feel great!” “Well they are now three minutes apart and the heartbeats are a little higher than we like. I think we should call your doctor and see what she thinks.” We decided to wait until 7 a.m. when a nurse had already checked me would be coming into work. She would be the best to know if I had dilated anymore. So we waited the ten minutes. She came into the room, still buttoning up her scrubs. Well looky there – I was 7 almost 8 cm dilated – WE WERE HAVING BABIES! It was only then that I admitted to sexy dancing the night before. Yep I was the bed rest patient who tried to reenact ballroom dancing moves. #bestpatientEVER

No sudden movements … changed out of my yoga pants and got into a flattering hospital gown. Called Doug. I could hear Jaden in the background yelling “ooo weee we’re having babies!” I called my mom, dad, brother and sister. Calling in the troops!

We had 16 people, between my doctors and two nurses for each baby, in the OR for the triplet’s birth. Go big or go home. I wanted to know who brought the ChexMix for this party! By 9:21 a.m. (only an hour and 21 minutes after finding out I was 8 cm dilated) Logan was born, then Owen and then Weston. I was only able to see Weston in the OR – the others were taken to get oxygen and the care that they needed. To most moms this would have been terrifying, but for us, this was part of the birthing plan. We knew they would be born early and would need to stay in the NICU. Their cries were the most beautiful sound and let me know they were just fine.

Doug left me in the OR and went with the boys – he was so proud and I loved him for it. That left me in the OR with the remaining 9 or 10 people, including my three doctors. It also left me to make all kinds of nervous jokes …

After I was all sewn up and had spent an hour in recovery, they wheeled my hospital bed thru the NICU so I could see my sweet little men in their incubators. First was Weston – he was perfect. Then, oh gosh, I started to not feel well … yep I barfed in the NICU. Awesome. I guess meeting Owen and Logan would have to wait a bit. They rolled me back to my room where I slept. When I woke up, only my sister was left. The rest of the family had gone home and would be back in the morning to visit. She helped me write the email to my coworkers, introducing my three little men. I was so glad she was there to help.

Later that night I got to walk down to the NICU to try and meet my babies again. I met all of them this time, but threw up again. I was making a great first impression on the nurses who would be caring for my children for the next 2-3 weeks. Time to go back to my room … I could visit them any hour of the night.

I don’t totally remember the details after this … I know that Doug was incredibly attentive. The next three nights, we layed in my hospital bed together watching shows after our visitors had gone home. It was a whirlwind of information, heart monitors and baby’s first bath. We loved the nurses. I would pump in the mother’s room and remember Doug knocking on the door to check if I was alright – I had fallen asleep. Whoops!

This morning is much different than four years ago. There aren’t any oxygen masks, only funfetti waffles. Although I’m still not very well rested – boys had me up at 5 a.m. signing cute made up songs. Hard to be mad at that … although I was still annoyed – it WAS 5 a.m. Would have been much cuter at 7 a.m.

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Do you remember how much fun it was to jump in the leaves as a kid? Let me tell you a little secret … it’s just as fun when you’re an adult!

A few weeks ago, the kids were going stir crazy inside. So I dropped what I was doing (laundry and cleaning the kitchen) and decided to take them out to blow off some steam. At our new house we have two very large trees in our front and back yard. This equals an enormous amount of leaves in the fall. Leaves that my children have never experienced before.

We started by raking them up into a big pile. We used a combination of a rake, shovels and brooms. Note to self- get child size rakes by next fall. The boys worked hard – piling the leaves up high.

When I told them it was time to jump in they looked at me like I was nuts! “Mom, we just worked so hard to move the leaves in big pile, and now you want us to jump in it? and ruin all of our hard work? heck no!” Jaden was the first one to jump. Logan and Weston got upset because he was ruining the pile and spreading it all back out. I reassured them that they could play and then we would rake it back up into a big pile again. Once they got the hang of it, there were thousands of laughs and smiles. Time wasn’t a thought and we just played. Me included.

It was good old fashioned fun. No electronics, no fighting, no mess – just fun. We played until we were tired. I didn’t tell them it was time to go inside, they asked me to go inside. As I single mom, I often feel like I don’t have the time or energy to do the fun stuff. I used to be the fun mom – letting the boys make a mess with popcorn because it was fun and there was always a vacuum. I was the mom that played as the dirty laundry piled up. The laundry still piles up but I feel like I’m missing out on my children.

So I encouraged my kids to play in the leaves … but the next time I played in the leaves WITH them.

I buried them in the leaves and I let them cover me too. I didn’t just watch my kids play, I played with them. That’s making memories … I’ve got to remember these moments … I want to be the mom that played WITH her children and not just the mom that had a clean house, laundry folded and watched as her children played. What kind of mom are you? But most importantly, what kind of mom do you want to be?

Love, Mel

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Here is a myth about divorce … you stop loving the other person. For me, it’s not quite like that. I loved my ex husband. I had every intention of spending the rest of my life with him … flaws and all. I knew things weren’t going so well between us, but I also didn’t plan on going anywhere. I was going to work at it. All good things are worth fighting for, right?

When I first shared here that I was divorced, I asked for respect of my privacy and to just know that I had given it a great deal of thought; it wasn’t a rash decision … and it didn’t have anything to do with Owen’s death (although I’m sure it didn’t help the situation between Doug and I). I haven’t found my elegance on my blog since then. Words and stories used to flow through my fingers. I could draft an entire blog on my way to work, and then come home and type it all out to share. It was effortless really. These past months, I feel clumsy. What part of my story am I ok to share, and what parts are still mine to hold secret? They are all woven together so it’s hard to share anything. I feel like the raw parts of me, that I’m used to sharing, are no longer “something to talk about.”

I feel erased from a life that I loved … from someone I loved so dearly. I want to tell you how much better life is, now that I’m not in an abusive relationship. I’m ashamed to say how much I miss him some nights. No one gets married to get divorced. Unlike Owen’s journey, this one is not inspiring or strong. It’s just all messed up.

The first guy to ask me for coffee sweeps me off my feet and drops me to crash on the ground. Not his fault, it’s my own. I should have never let both feet leave the ground. It was nothing really … a lunch and a visit to the museum. But yet, I relive the feeling of being erased all over again when he denies knowing me. Then, me like a loser, wonders if he ever thinks about me. It’s like I’m in 7th grade all over again. Worrying and wondering and being too embarrassed to admit it. Knowing that I’ve been through the death of a child, I should be able to handle these kinds of things like a champ.

The death of a child is far worse than a divorce. Owen is gone, never coming back again. There is no light at the end of that tunnel. But in divorce, there is the possibility of a second chance. I feel stupid for processing Owen’s death with grace and struggling so much with divorce.

Perhaps it’s because Owen’s death wasn’t something I caused or could have avoided. I did everything I could – CPR, sat by his bedside, prayed and trusted God. The autopsy came back without any answers – which to me, was a relief because it means I didn’t miss anything. There was nothing I could have done to save him. In my marriage I see all of the red flags before we got married. I remember trying to zone out what my gut was really telling me. I flash back to losing my temper with him over and over again. There are so many things I could have done differently. If I had only been able to control my anger. If I had only made more of his favorite meals. So much regret and “what if’s.”

So here I am on the night of November 1, 2014 – almost 11 months to the date after my divorce was final, I am working through the truth; to earn back my authenticity with you. We’ve been through so much, why not this too?

One thing I have learned is that you have to allow yourself to “go there.” You have to be brave enough to face what is going on, to be strong enough to go to those low places. If you avoid them, you don’t really get through them. They will continue to follow you in the shadows.

I am strong. I am still wearing the armor of God and know that He is working for good in all of this. My prayer is that one day Doug and I will be able to be friends again. I’m scared to admit that I hope to be in love again some day. I have never wanted to spend life alone. It’s hard to see the path that God is leading me on when I’m so focused on who isn’t with me. I’m not very good at this .. but it’s all about imperfect progress, right?

Love, Mel

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Let me clarify something … When I said I thought I was special, I meant I thought that you thought I was special. I thought that you valued me and honored me. I believed you when you said I was different than the rest. What I didn’t take into account was the possibility that you weren’t being honest with yourself.

It’s no secret on my blog that I’ve got a few life stories and lessons in my repetuar. This isn’t my first life tragedy. Through each of these hard times I have learned over and over again that I am strong and I am worthy of love. Most of all God loves me. All I want is to love and be loved. God’s strongest and most frequent whisper to me these days is this …

Mel, love my people. They might not love you back at first, but love them. Love them not because they love you but because I love them and because they are special to Me. They are one of you … You are all my children. Love them. I made you to love them.

His whispers are clear. They leave little for interpretation.

I continue to find myself loving those who do not love me back. They have dark days of their own. They are stuck in their own tragedy and they can’t seem to get themselves out. I try to convince myself that I’m better off with some distance. I’m better off focusing on what I am doing. Yet part of me is still stuck loving those who do not, can not love back. I worry about them, I pray for them and I am always a drafting words of wisdom and advise. Outsider information from someone who has “been there, done that.”

A real part of me wishes I could just let go. I could forgot those who cross my path. But that’s not me. I already love you and there is very little you can do to change that.

With all of that … I know that I am worthy of love. I know that I deserve love. But the part that is missing is the someone who also thinks I am worthy of love. Someone who finds me fantastic – flaws and all.

To my family – I just described you. You love me, flaws and all. You find me fantastic (and sometimes obnoxious and difficult). But you love me and you are always, always there for me. You have met me in my dark place and have dragged me out. You have taught me what it feels like to be loved when I don’t deserve it. If I was given that, than surely someone else deserves the same. Those who need love the most are often those who don’t deserve it.

You might not be able to love me back, but I love you. I pray for you, I think about you. And I’m here … When you are ready to make healthy choices. I can’t help you until you are ready to help yourself. But I’ll love you until you’re ready.

Love, Mel

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When married, I dreaded coming home only to be greeted by comments of what I didn’t do correctly or to be cussed at. It wasn’t a safe place. When I moved out, while in the process of my divorce, I lived in a tiny 800 sq foot, one bath and 18″ of countertop in the kitchen, light blue house. There were spiders everywhere, barely enough room to walk around the coffee table and the garage was missing the bottom 12″ of siding so you never knew what rodent or how much rain would be there to greet you in the morning.

Each time I convinced myself that it was my home. While in Sussex, I told myself it’s where my children slept so it was home. After Owen died, it was the only place Owen knew so how could I go anywhere else? With no other options, moving to the small blue house, I told myself it was at least a happy home. The anger that intruded on my Sussex home would not be allowed in this new home. It was small but it was mine.

Home is different now. There is enough room for all of us. It has a sense of permanence. I’ve painted walls, left a mark, settled in. The anxiety is no longer there when I pull into the driveway. I no longer anticipate the stress of either an angry husband or children climbing all over the place because there is no room. It’s just relief … to be home. To settle in and relax. To be where I am supposed to be.

It’s not always perfect. After the kids have gone to sleep I am reminded that I am alone. Single. There is no other parent. I don’t have a best friend to cuddle and watch tv with. There is no one to help when one of the boys wake up with a fever. At 10:30 pm when I’ve finally gotten all of my chores done there isn’t anyone to reflect on the day with. That part I still hate.

I don’t particularly enjoy being single. I think I’m doing ok at it … Just not what I ever wanted out of life. People give me energy. Knowing that there is someone else out there invested in my kid’s happiness and sharing in the bad days is a deep comfort. When the boys do something totally silly – I laugh and take pictures, but in the depths of my heart I’m sad that there wasn’t anyone else there to enjoy the moment with me.

Part of the way I was knit together I suppose … To cherish relationships. To love people – like a real love of people. Guaranteed, if we have not met I already love you. It’s how I roll. I’ve stopped trying to fight it or to be selective of who I’d like to be around. Instead, I try to give in to God’s plan for the people in my life. Looking through glasses that remind me each person I encounter is a brilliant work of art.

It’s great to have a place I feel safe in. It’s a new feeling for me to want to stay home. I’m moving in the right direction, even if I still have no idea where I’m going!